In Search of a Plot
by With A Midnight Smile
Summary: Kassy's Harry Potter PlotBunny Pound; includes Mary-Sues, alternate dimensions, gender-benders, and more! See a bunny you like? Have fun with it! May or may not be added to in the future
1. Ms MarySue Potter

In Search of a Plot

**Words: 1,000**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I don't own the concept of the Mary-Sue.**

**Warnings: Drabble, Mary-Sue, mentions of sex, mentioned character death, totally crappy, made me wan to gag while writing it...**

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_Ms. Mary-Sue Potter_

"_Aim for success, not perfection. Never give up your right to be wrong, because then you will lose the ability to learn new things and move forward with your life." Anonymous_

There is a reason that Slytherins hate Gryffindors. It wasn't because of the feud between their Founders, the infamous split of Godric and Salazar in the year 876 (not that anyone knew it was the year 876, but it was), or even because they tended to like muggle-born witches and wizards. Some Slytherins cited those as reasons, and some actually followed them, but that was not The Reason. The Reason was really quite shallow, simple... and stupid, if you asked anyone who knew, but it was still The Reason.

The Reason being that Gryffindor always got the prettiest girls each year in their house. While Slytherin had the likes of Millicent Bulstrode (who looked like Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe if they were girls) and Pansy Parkinson (who looked rather like a pug), Gryffindor had such beauties as Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who were the prettiest girls in their year... except one.

There was one girl, more beautiful than any other at Hogwarts, who was _not_ in Gryffindor. Her hair was like the night spun into gossamer thread and layered, curling in the most tantalizing of fashions, hanging loosely to mid-back. Eyes of the most pure emerald drew in many a man on their own, flawless gems that could ensnare the sense of even the dark Potions Master of Hogwarts school. Her skin was crafted of porcelain, tinted lightly pink over her high cheekbones, just tickled by her long, dark lashes. Rosebud lips that were considered a sin no matter how they were emoting could be found most often in a smile.

If her face were not enough, with her perfect nose and sultry gaze, it was her body that could trap a man. Perfect curves, always accentuated by whatever she was wearing and the way that she walked sang of a one-way trip to Hell.

The irony that the most beautiful girl in the school, Mary-Sue Potter – just Mary or Maze to her friends and lovers – was a Slytherin was lost on all, as they could do little more than stare. Were it not for her twin brother, Harry, and his obvious scrawniness and lack of attractiveness to the fairer sex (except that he was famous and rich), many would have thought her to be some sort of dark veela.

Maybe she was

She was pampered, grew up loved and spoiled by her rich, adoptive parents, and yet humble. Many believed this to be an act.

Maybe it was.

The only mar to her features was a single scar just above her right elbow in the shape of a lightning bolt where she had taken the killing curse meant to kill both she and her brother. It was identical to the one on his brow, but she was lucky. There were no nightmares, not pain, only knowledge. Knowledge that made her the smartest girl in school, a whole head-and-shoulders above Hermione Granger. The bushy-haired girl hated her for it. Claimed that it was not rightfully her grades, but Voldemort's, and that the top of the class was a place she stole.

Maybe she had.

But wasn't that the difference between Mary-Sue and her brother? He had scruples; he didn't lie (unless he had to), steal (except food from the Dursleys), cheat (maybe he copied Hermione's work every so often), or do any of the things that had gained her reputation. He wanted to earn a reputation on his own, but had no _real_ ambition or cunning.

Mary-Sue could lie through her teeth to the Minister himself without getting caught: she stole knowledge, reputation, and ideas without remorse: she cheated, though not in the academic sense, and left many an angry boy behind. Her reputation as a tease and a harlot was legendary, yet boys still came in as she moved up the chain to the top. With a vengeance, she climbed the ladder to success, careless of her innocence.

Maybe that was why she was there that day.

Maybe that was why, at the Final Battle, she cheated.

She was supposed to be a hero.

She was supposed to work with her brother to defeat Voldemort.

Maybe she did.

No one knew what happened, really, but what they did know was that both the Dark Lord and the Boy-Who-Lived did not leave the encounter alive in any sense of the word. Only Mary-Sue, the Woman-Who-Triumphed, the Orphan-Who-Destroyed.

It wasn't until she went to sleep that night, chosen partner for the night pretending to sleep soundly with her in his arms, that it was discovered at all.

That night, in that last stand, she had shot two Killing Curses.

Neither of them missed.

Draco Malfoy never told.

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**A/n: I... can hardly believe I actually wrote that... -.-' wow. Um... yeah. Anyway, this is my drabble dump, where I toss random ideas that I don't want to put on my crap account. I should actually have two drabble dumps; one for random HP ideas and the other for X-Overs. I dunno when I'll start those, but it'll happen eventually.**

**Haha... the abbreviation I use for cataloging this story is "iSoap". Just thought I'd share that.**

**I'll have another of these out soon.**

_IMPORTANT NOTE:_ (well, I think it's important) These are just a bunch of story ideas floating around in my head. If someone actualyl wants to write a real story using one of these for a diving board, feel free, but please inform me so I can read the result! :D


	2. Mudblood

In Search of a Plot

**Words: 1,303**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Warnings: Drabble, teen-based humor, mentioned character death, fake scientific names made up using a Latin Translator, ignorant purebloods**

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_Mudblood_

"_Purity is not imposed upon us as though it were a kind of punishment, it is one of those mysterious but obvious conditions of that supernatural knowledge of ourselves in the Divine, which we speak of as faith. Impurity does not destroy this knowledge, it slays our need for it." Georges Bernanos_

It was a virus, they said. Most wizards had no idea what a "virus" was, what that meant for them or how it could possibly be killing them off so quickly.

Was this some new killing curse? Illness rarely killed, and this wasn't one that they had heard of. It wasn't dragonpox, which caused itchy spots that slowly added venom to a person's veins and either killed them or increased their magical core: it wasn't Phoenix Syndrome, which caused a wizard to spontaneously combust until nothing was left but their still-beating heart (it was believed that, when the heart combusts, the wizard will be reincarnated, but no one was certain): it wasn't even a curse similar to that of the Mummy's Tomb.

A curse that struck only pureblood wizards. It was a terrifying thought, and even more devastating in practice. Because it _couldn't_ be a disease. Everyone was convinced that this "virus" was a curse, perhaps being perpetrated by Harry Potter.

Because it was tearing Voldemort's support to pieces, from the bottom up.

"A virus," Madam Pomfrey informed the assembled students of Hogwarts, "is a small strand of genetic material called RNA – short for Ribonucleic Acid – encased in a shell that can lock into a cell of the human body. In a sense, it – Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"What do you mean a 'cell of the human body'? It's not a dungeon!" The blond boy seemed terribly indignant at the thought of _his_ immaculate body being compared to a dingy, stale-aired dungeon. He obviously didn't like the idea of there being something with such a stupid name as "virus" being the key to any "cells" in his body, either. Of course, he might just be upset because his father had been stricken down by this "virus" thing (he was convinced it was Potter or Dumbledore's doing), but he was just a whiner anyway.

"The human body is comprised of trillions of microscopic – that means _very small_, Mr. Weasley – objects called cells. Without them, you would not exist," it was amazing how patient the Medi-Witch could be when describing the workings of something that was killing people, "a virus, if it is the right 'shape' can 'unlock' a cell and attack the nucleus – what _is_ it Ms. Granger?"

"Perhaps if you explained how RNA is used in coding a human's genetic code and creating proteins by ripping... blahblahblah," Did the bushy-haired ex-beaver ever shut up? Poppy didn't really care much, but she was trying to _explain_ how it worked in terms that the students who knew nothing of Biology – which included most of the muggle-born students too – which was apparently not on the Gryffindor sixth-year's agenda.

"Ms. Granger," she said calmly, "please allow me to explain. A virus is a naturally occurring _thing_. It is not alive, per se, and cannot reproduce without invading a person's body. If it does invade, and it does make it to a cell's nucleus, it will force that cell to create more and more of the virus until the cell explodes, sending more of the viruses throughout your body to repeat the process with other cells. Understand?"

The assembled students were noticeably paler at the thought of something reproducing inside them. Poppy noted, with a sense of satisfaction, that she'd made them pay attention to _something_ at least.

"This makes you sick. Some examples of illnesses that are caused by viruses are the common cold," a Ravenclaw snorted at the thought, "some sexually transmitted diseases," much embarrassed coughing erupted from various parts of the room, "and the Pureblood Malady that is going around right now. We have a representative from St. Mungo's who will explain the cure that has been found. I introduce to you, Healer Wanker."

This had everyone giggling inappropriately. Well, why not? The pureblood students – especially Draco Malfoy's social circle – were about to get the shock of their lives.

"The Pureblood Malady – the scientific name being _Incontaminatus morbus_ – is a disease directly linked to blood," Healer Wanker informed the room, "in particular, the 'purity' of magical blood, in that _only_ witches and wizards of magical parentage may contract it. Magical humans have blood types A, B, and AB, in either the negative of positive category, which may bring elucidation to their relation with the Light and Dark Arts. Muggles have blood types O negative and O positive. The child of two O positives has a one in one hundred chance of being magical.

"This is common knowledge in the magical medical community. It has been discerned, just this morning in fact, that this is the solution to the disease. Our newest theory was tested at three oh six in the morning on one William Weasley and proven a success. By transfusing him with O positive blood from one of our stocks of blood normally given to vampires, he was stabilized and is already on a short road to recovery."

Ginny and Ron Weasley were both crying on their significant others, but Healer Wanker pressed on.

"The cure to _Incontaminatus morbus_ is simple; into each student who is second generation magical and over – excluding children of muggle-born witches (not wizards, _witches_) – a transfusion of blood from a muggle-born witch or wizard or from a muggle will be given to prevent being affected by the virus."

The uproar was instant. Some students were more than willing to give up their status of "pureblood" if it meant saving their lives (such as the Weasleys), while others (such as Draco Malfoy) were livid.

Unfortunately for Mr. Malfoy, he never had the opportunity to renege his dismissal of the idea. He caught the disease and died cursing Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore with a furious look on his face even as he screamed in pain at his blood boiling in his veins.

Voldemort, without a base of support (and with everyone being a "mudblood") gave up Dark Lording and tried to join Broadway to act in the musical A Streetcar Names Desire. He was denied as being too creepy to play Stella and the British Ministry caught up with him one week later.

Poppy Pomfrey and Healer Wanker (his first name was Christofis, but no one cares about that) dated for about five weeks before she found out about his fetish for nurses dressing up as Nurse Joy from the muggle television program Pokémon.

As for all the students? Most of them went on to live mediocre lives in mediocre jobs with nothing more to look forward to than a warm bed for the night and another endless day in the morning... well, except Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. Hermione went on to become the first muggle-born Minister of Magic (not just Mixed-Blood like her predecessor, Percival Weasley) and Harry became an auror. He died on his first assignment.

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**A/n: I... okay, I'm not quite sure how this even came to exist, really I'm not. It's... no. Just... just **_**no**_**.**


	3. Do You Believe in Magic?

In Search of a Plot

**Words: 1,933**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Warnings: Drabble, might be kind of hard to follow, semi-non-magical AU**

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_Do You Believe in Magic?_

"_Sometimes I don't want to see the puppeteers, sometimes I just want to see the magic therein, and sometimes I just want to pry open the atoms and know why they spin." Glen Sutton_

There was something _different_ about them. They were just a small group, three students in that sprawling school, and everyone knew that they were not quite the same as everyone else. They had stood out from the beginning, even in Kindergarten, as the weird kids; they were the children that teachers believed would either grow up to be amazingly famous, or bums on the street. No one could ever decide for sure.

The three only spoke with each other. It wasn't that they believed the rest below them, but that others believed the three below them. They were the outcasts. One day, when the girl of the trio came to school with her hair straightened rather than bushy, one of the girls in her Biology class asked if she had straightened her pubic hair too. The boys were always being elbowed in the halls, smashed into lockers, tripped in the lunch room, anything that the popular group could think of to do to them.

It never got to them, though. If their lunches were spilled, they would buy a new one: if the glasses of the black-haired one were snapped, he would come into school the next day with an identical pair: if they were taunted, they merely merged together again and gave secret smiles.

Hermione Granger was the smartest girl in the entire school, a shoe in for Valedictorian in two years, and everyone knew it, hated that one of the _weird_ ones was so smart. Ronald Weasley, the second to youngest of seven who were all just as odd as he was, was a football fanatic and the best goalie that the school team had seen in years, but this didn't earn him any brownie points with his classmates. And Harry Potter... he was _different_.

Everyone had met his family in some way or another, mostly just his cousin Dudley. Dudley Dursley was a bully from Primary school who had especially liked picking on his cousin until he went to prep school in Wales. During his holidays, Harry Potter showed up to school with more bruises and with tape on his glasses, his smile more strained than ever, but he was _weird_. No one was going to go to the Principle or anything to have his situation looked at, because as far as they were concerned, he probably deserved it.

Yes, they were weird. They were different in ways that made the other students of Stonewall Secondary nervous. All the weird things that seemed to happen around them – once a teacher's wig had turned blue in their third year of Primary school and in fourth year Potter had ended up on top of the school kitchens when his cousin was chasing him – were enough to set anyone on edge.

All except for one person, and he was just as weird as they were if you asked any of the _normal_ people.

Mr. Lupin was a sickly man at the best of times, and a teacher of Biology who was on the receiving end of a feud between him and the AP Chemistry Teacher (Dr. Snape, though he preferred Professor). He was also the only teacher who wasn't overly worried or anxious regarding the three weirdos. Probably because he was their favorite teacher.

Everyday after school, Harry, Hermione, and Ron would go to his classroom and help him set up lab activities for whatever classes he had for the next day. Mr. Lupin preferred the practical approach to science, and his students benefited most of all the Biology classes. (Especially compared to Mr. Lockhart, who, as his first lesson, went with the classic "dissecting frogs" thing, only to have three students fall ill, two prove to be vegetarian, and one to almost slice his own finger off. After that incident, he stuck with giving his students theory work.) Even though they had only had him for the one year of Biology in their third year of Secondary school, they had maintained a close working relationship with the man; he was their sole bastion of safety in the jungle that was being a teenager.

"Mr. Lupin," Harry asked one day in April toward the end of his fifth year at Stonewall, "could you sign this for me? Since we're doing our forecasting right now... well, I wanted to sign on to be your teaching assistant. I've already turned in all my paperwork to apply for your AP class too, so I'll be able to do a really good job." Mr. Lupin had smiled at the boy – his favorite pupil, though he refused to play favorites with his students, and Harry had earned his A plus all on his own – and signed the paper.

Months later, many of his students were wondering why he'd done it. Probably because, when one of the kids had insulted Harry's friends while he was grading some multiple choice tests behind them, the wind picked up in the room and scattered a lot of papers around. The problem with that was quite simple; the doors to the room were closed, there weren't any windows, and the Air Conditioning system had gone down that morning, so the wind didn't seem to have a source.

That afternoon, when they were helping set up a lab involving identifying different trees by their leaves, Mr. Lupin broached the subject.

"Harry, you really need to control your temper," he sighed. "Your mother had exactly the same problem, because she was always so mad at your father. But you need to understand, no one knows what is wrong with us. I thought Mr. and Mrs. Weasley taught you a few ways to keep control?" They had always done weird things without meaning to, and of the three, Hermione was the only first generation to use this odd "force" for lack of a better word. Even though she was the least experienced and had the least help, she had the best control. This, however, did not help Harry, who always held a very precarious hold on his emotions and thus the power that coursed through him.

"I know! But... I'm trying," he sighed, putting more leaves in his collection bag. "The methods that Ron and Ginny use don't help me, Mr. Lupin. But..." he paused again, biting his lip. His hand was resting on the bark of an elm, and he was nervous. Hermione and Ron stopped as well. "Sir, I think I might be going crazy. I've been having dreams, about a man who... who looks like Sirius Black." Mr. Lupin stiffened. Sirius had been a prodigy with the power, a monster in man's clothing. For all his control, one day he'd suddenly gone mad and lost his vaunted control, killing James and Lily Potter in a massive explosion, along with several normal people who were on the street that day. "And the techniques he taught me... they're so different, and they _work_."

Harry slung his backpack off of his shoulder and opened the bottom pocket. A thin stick was pulled out, shaped and polished. Mr. Lupin noticed that Ron and Hermione were playing with similar sticks made of different woods. Harry's was pale, as was Ron's, and Hermione had a darker wood for hers.

"Mr. Lupin, it's... complex," Hermione murmured, looking at the sky through the leaves of the elm. "When Harry told us about his dream, he gave us these. He said that they just appeared. But, sir, they aren't just polished sticks." She looked down at the wooden shaft in her hand, raised it, and with a simple swish and flick motion and some mumbled Latin, a small rock was suddenly floating in midair. Mr. Lupin's eyes widened.

"This guy in my dreams, he's been teaching me to use this," Harry explained, almost frantic. "He said that it's magic, that we're wizards, sir! He said my parents were a witch and wizard and that you're a wizard and all the other people out there who do weird things like we do are too! He... he said he knew my parents, sir, and he taught me how to control myself. Even Snape couldn't do that last year."

His eyes were pleading for the Biology teacher to understand. Surely he could! Surely he wouldn't turn them away or think him mad. He couldn't _stand_ it if that was what happened.

"Do you know why he's in your dreams?" Mr. Lupin finally asked, looking at Harry directly with his oddly golden eyes.

"Yeah," Harry relaxed slightly. "He died. It started in June, because he said that's when he died, June 17th, 1995. I ask him a lot in my dreams about how he found me, how he knows what all this is, you know. He said that he's from another timeline where wizards have their own school." Harry laughed at this. "It sounds like a badly written Fantasy novel if you ask me."

Mr. Lupin nodded distractedly. "Yes, I suppose it does," he murmured, looking from one teen to another. "Alright, well, let's finish up out here, and we can discuss this again tomorrow. I think you have a date with Ginny tonight, don't you?" He grinned impishly at the ebony-haired boy's embarrassment while Ron laughed and Hermione smiled.

When they were gone, Mr. Lupin collapsed in his desk, head in his hands. It couldn't be... not again. He sighed and reached for the book hidden under stacks of test papers. But this was twice now, wasn't it?

Two sets of dream visitors from a world with a magical school and history. He leafed through the book before him and landed on one of the last chapters, slowly scraping his eyes over the page. He sighed deeply before closing it again and closing the cover to stare at the front of the book that should never have been.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

If he was really... Remus dare not think on it and buried the book once more. Out of sight, out of mind. Just like the ghouls of his best friends, diseased since fifteen years before. They would come again that night, just like every other night, but he dearly wished it weren't the case.

Why could he have been normal?

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**A/n: Again, not entirely sure how this came to be. Do you get the premise though? I'm not entirely sure I do.**


	4. Through Her Eyes

In Search of a Plot

**Words: 855**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**Warnings: Gender-bender, weird, mentions of homo-sexuality (why do I need a warning for this?)**

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_Through Her Eyes_

_Gender-bender: __n.__Slang  
**1. **__One who dresses or acts in an androgynous manner.  
**2. **__Something, such as a theatrical performance or a book, whose portrayal of gender roles is nontraditional or androgynous_.

When Harry Potter defeated Voldemort, there wasn't a terrible lot of things to be grateful for more than that it was over. He didn't rejoice that he had saved lives or that he could go and marry the man of his dreams or even go to any End-of-the-War parties with his friends. Part of it was that he was depressed. Depressed after defeating the Darkest wizard since Ergo the Smasher. If everyone could see him now!

The point was that he could not see them, and, likely as not, they could not see him at that moment either, considering they were all very much not alive.

Even if they had been, he wouldn't be much longer. Harry was just glad that the wounds were catching up with him from the battle. He could see his parents, Sirius, Cedric, Ron, and Hermione again, couldn't he? He grinned before falling unconscious from blood loss.

To say that he was disappointed when his eyes opened again to the Hogwarts Hospital Wing ceiling would be a slight understatement, but only slight. He wanted to see everyone again, but he wasn't exactly suicidal. Did wanting to die make him suicidal? He was pretty sure that was only the case if he actually TRIED to die instead of just letting it take him. Didn't matter, really.

As he sat up – he was surprised to have strength enough to do so – Harry noticed a few things that where very off about how his body felt, and it wasn't just because he was no longer in excruciating pain.

The first thing he noticed was the tickle of hair against his neck and the parts of his shoulders nearest it. Second was that his arms felt smaller, and sitting was a much more awkward affair than usual because of it. Thirdly he realized that the clothes he was wearing felt oddly constricting in some areas where they really shouldn't be.

So he looked down. And he saw boobs.

For a moment he just sort of stared, wondering why on earth he had breasts and why he was alive in a body that seemed rather feminine to begin with. Tearing his eyes from what really should _not_ have been on his chest, Harry scanned the rest of the (he couldn't say his because, by Merlin, he was a man and men did not have boobs! Unless they were fat of course, but that was beside the point... and why was he still thinking about this? He didn't know and continued his scrutiny of the) body, noting girlish hips and, come to think of it, he realized that he couldn't feel the presence of his best friend between his legs where it was supposed to be.

_Damn_, he thought with a sigh as he placed his – _the_ – feet experimentally on the ground. The stone was cold beneath them, but not unbearably so, and he stood, trying to balance. It wasn't too hard, but he knew walking would be a chore; he was used to being just below average height for a man, so just above for a woman, and apparently this body was still in the gawky stage.

Fabulous.

With one last, mournful look toward the hospital bed, Harry started making the body walk, keeping a close eye on the feet so he wouldn't overextend the legs and trip on the poor girl's face, whoever she was. Because she wasn't him. Really.

"One..." Harry breathed, as he rested a hand on the door to the bathroom, "two..." he twisted, "three." The door was opened and he scurried in, slamming the door behind him – her – _it_self. Counting to three once more, he turned and looked straight in the mirror before screaming.

He really would never marry the guy of his dreams.

Mostly because, inexplicably, he really had turned into girl; or rather, he possessed a girl. Unfortunately, she wasn't a pretty girl, or even a plain girl.

He had become Pansy Parkinson, age fourteen. His social life was over; there was no _way_ Dean would like him (her) now.

With one final sigh, Harry started very much contemplating just finding a wand and getting it over with, because thing were definitely not looking up through her eyes.

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**A/n: No, this wasn't really meant to make sense. Yes, I know it's stupid. No, I'm not going to ever write anything QUITE like that ever again... hopefully. You never know.**


	5. Curtains

In Search of a Plot

**Words: 413**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, JKR does.**

**Warning: character death, personification**

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_Curtains_

_"Delay in vengeance gives a heavier blow." John Ford_

The phrase "birds of a feather" was created to inspire a feeling of camaraderie. Those who are similar remain together, you see?

It applies to none better than in the inanimate world.

Perhaps if Sirius Orion Black, escaped convict of Azkaban prison, had known this, he wouldn't have slashed the curtains on Ronald Weasley's bed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1994. If he had, it would have saved him a world of trouble.

It started simply; while he was staying in the shrieking shack, he tripped over a curtain on the bed he was using while he was sleepy, but he righted himself easily. The curtains didn't like that.

Because he spent a full year away from his new arch enemies, the curtains, they returned in full force. After his arrival at his friend Remus Lupin's house, Sirius found himself getting smothered the next day as he took a nap. The flimsy cotton was pushed away easily, and it wasn't like they could have really hurt him to begin with; they were thin enough that he could breathe through them rather easily.

Three days later, he found himself at his old family home of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. There were a lot of curtains in that house.

The most important curtains in the entire house were ones that he placed himself; a set of curtains that covered the portrait of his mothers and which controlled whether or not she was awake.

Curtains really did _not_ like Sirius Black.

They fought him tooth and nail – or would have, were they not curtains, and instead fought him fold and ring – for near a full year before they finally got their full revenge for his slaughter of Egyptian Cotton Red 24 the one-hundred seventy-seventh, better known as Ron Weasley's bed hangings.

He felt the curtains pull at him even as he tried to make his way out, until he was all on the other side.

And it was all because he destroyed Ron's curtains.

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**A/n: Just... had an idea... and yeah. Random. Yay!**


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